Left Behind
by Traditionallypeppermint
Summary: It's just not something you ever think of. If you do, it's called nightmares. ... A look at being left behind.


**Author's Note/Disclaimer**:

Hey guys. I haven't written fanfiction in over 6 years. This is also the first time I write in first person. Be kind?

I don't own anything. Except an immense love for Chuck and an immense dislike for this long hiatus.

* * *

It's not like I didn't know that it could happen.

I can't say that. That would be lying. And even though my life throughout the last decade has been increasingly and recurrently about that, I've never been real good at it.

But like I said, I always knew it was a possibility. It was for me, too. For all of us. Everyone who decided to do what we do, or along those lines, anyway. There weren't many that did exactly what we did, or more specifically, what I did. It doesn't matter though. In the end, it's all the same. The core matters are. Life. Life and death don't change for no one.

It's just not something you ever think of. If you do, it's called nightmares.

But it's like one of those car accidents. You think 'never me', it won't ever happen to you. Like being struck by lightning. Ironically, that was more or less how I felt after she first entered my life, and now, I'm back to the same feeling, again. Only different. (Not the good kind of different either.) So now I'm standing here, with this measly flower in my hand and I wish I could feel the life of it, or even appreciated its colours... but I can't. It's just a thing. It's nothing I can like, nothing I can love...

Her? I would have loved her for the rest of my life.

Now all I got is this stinking bracelet that she felt so bad about accepting but did anyway, pressed between my hands, the cool silver of it slick against the texture of my fingers, which are dry, not like sandpaper but like dirt. Like the one I'm standing on. I've got my own life, too.

Not that it matters. Not since...

"Chuck!"

I heard his footsteps before I heard him calling out my name. That's why I don't need to turn around to know it's Awesome's hand that covers my shoulder. The thought comes to me then that he could probably dislocate it if he wanted to, if he just lowered his index finger about two inches and twisted his palm ever so slightly to the right; and I damn the computer in my brain for telling me things I don't want to know at the least convenient moments. I can't affect it, though. The Intersect has its own will, always had. It just wasn't enough. Enough to...

"How you holding up, bro?"

His voice is empathetic, too empathetic. His hand leaves my shoulder then and maybe I should have been relieved.

I'm not. I can't feel him.

"Ellie told me you'd be here."

Inwardly, the ghost of me smiles. It's skewed, however. My sister knows my heart better than me and always have, yet she still doesn't know a thing about all of this or the real reason behind why I'm standing here. No, she knows what everyone else is supposed to know, the cover reason for the very thing in my life that has felt the most real, ever.

"Yeah, she was right," I finally say, feeling like I should say something. Doesn't matter what. "It's... it's hard, you know? Never thought that I'd be here."

Devon looks at me, his jaw set, and says nothing at first. I feel like I should thank him for his silence but of course he's just too awesome to keep too silent for too long.

"I'm a cardiologist, Chuck. I know the matters of the heart like the back of my hand. You need time to heal, bro."

For some reason, I find myself get aggravated at his arrogance. Heal? If he's that damned cardiologist, shouldn't he know that there are some things a heart can't heal from?

I wish I could say this to him. But instead I settle for something else.

"It's not that easy, Devon."

This time, he just nods. A part of me wishes he would say something, just anything, but I know nothing he can say will make this better. Nothing will. Ellie knows this too but that doesn't keep her from trying. She is my sister, after all. We share this life-eternal survival-code; she picks me up when I hit rock bottom and I do likewise for her. I'd die for her. Just like...

"It means it meant something."

"What?" His words get my attention. Is he insinuating...?

"That you feel like this now. It means that what you two had, no matter all of the government spy stuff... it was real."

I feel like scoffing but all I manage is something that goes half the way. "Best thing in my life. I mean, it... was."

His hand is back on my shoulder. This time I make no instinctual effort to remove it because I know that soon, he'll leave me alone, thinking about how sad it is that I'm standing here, in this situation, and he's probably thinking about what he's going to tell Ellie when he gets home that won't break her heart for my sake. Fortunately for me, Devon is awesome at handling my sister. But, a cardiologist or not, he can't handle my heart. He can't just give it some lame diagnose and tell me it will heal. It won't ever heal. A heart... a heart doesn't get over something like this. I don't think it's supposed to.

I mean, how do you deal with death?

I read once in one of my comic books that _life and death are imaginary solutions; existence lies elsewhere_. I still don't know if it's true or not. I've never had to go that far. Yet. Thinking about it more often now lately, though.

Wherever you are, Sarah Walker, I'll love you for the rest of my life.

We'll save each other later.


End file.
